Music Boxes
by rubydesires
Summary: Nightshade never really knew where her afterlife would take her. Well, my readers asked for it, and here it is! Nightshade and Derrick. COMPLETE!
1. Partners

**AN:** Well, rubydesires said I could do this little author note thing since this story is all about me! She said I had to thank you all for realizing how completely awesome I am and for wanting to know more about me. Okay, this first chapter is how I met Beetlejuice. When we were alive. Yup. So what are you waiting on?! Get to reading about me! Oh! And stay tuned for some fun facts about me after the show!

* * *

Emily simply stared at her reflection as her younger sisters, Elizabeth and Estrelda, brushed out her long golden blond hair.

"I still can't believe you're getting married today, sister!" squealed the youngest, Estrelda.

"And after you are married, dear Emily, I can be as well," said Elizabeth.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Elizabeth, you are only thirteen, and you Estreldra are still just eleve. Aren't the both of you just a little young to be acting this way?"

She winced as Elizabeth yanked on a lock of her hair as she started to braid it. "You were thirteen when you became engaged to Lord Benton."

"Yes, I know."

Emily watched Estrelda's reflection tilt her head and met her eldest sister's gaze in the mirror. "You don't seem very happy about this, sister."

The eldest blonde winced again as the younger blonde yanked on another lock. "No," she finally answered. "I don't want to marry him. I don't love him. I don't even like him."

"But he dances."

"Which is the only favorable aspect of his character."

The three girls were silent as Elizabeth finished with Emily's hair. One pair of jade green eyes met two pairs of light blue ones in the mirror.

"Could you two leave me for a moment?" Emily asked.

"Of course, dear sister," Elizabeth said and led their youngest sister out the door.

As soon as Emily heard the click of the door latching shut, she let out a long held breath.

"About bloody time," she muttered, quickly changing into her riding clothes. Brushing off her light cream dress, Emily looked around for her black cloak. Where was it again? Oh, yes, it was in the chest at the end of her bed. Emily hopped over to the chest, opened it, and pulled out her cloak and little travel bag.

After one last glance around her room, Emily opened her window and looked out. Perfect! There wasn't anyone around. She put on her cloak and the ties of bag went between her teeth before she sat on the sill. Turning around, she swung her legs out over the edge. Looking back, she made sure no one was about to open her door. Satisfied, she took the short drop to the crated below her window. Landing on one of the crates in a crouch, Emily kept her hands on it and pushed off.

The blonde stood up straight, brushed off her hands, and flipped her hood up over her hair. She freed the bag from her mouth and held it in her hands.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked it, turning it over in her hands.

Shrugging, she looped the ties around her hand and held the loose fabric at the top.

Emily then frowned as she looked towards to end of the alley. She had never actually thought this far ahead. Her plan of escape had consisted of "get out of the house and find someplace to lay low".

"Well, I am out of the house, so I might as well start walking."

* * *

Emily entered a rundown tavern a few miles from her former home. As she lowered her hood, she glanced around.

Since it was only midmorning, there weren't many people around. That was good. Emily didn't want to be around a lot of people at the moment.

She was about to sit down at an empty table when someone in the corner caught her eye. When she looked at him, he winked and beckoned her over.

Intrigued, and slightly confused, she approached his table, but didn't sit down.

"I am not a whore," she said bluntly.

The man with pale blond hair and oh so green eyes laughed. "I know, sweetheart. You walk like a maiden."

Emily wasn't sure if she should be insulted or not. Sitting in the chair opposite him, she asked, "What do you want with me?"

"I want to know how old you are."

"Why?"

"So I can determine if we should continue this conversation."

Emily paused, debating whether to tell, or simply get up and leave. "Fifteen."

He whistled softly. "Fifteen, and neither wed nor bed. You _are_ an interesting one."

"How do you know I am unwed?"

"Sweetheart, what do you _think_ you do on your wedding night?"

"I knew that! Tonight was to be my wedding night . . ."

"What went wrong, Miss . . ."

"Emily Davenport. And I didn't like him."

"Hm. My name is William."

"I still have no idea what you want with me."

William ran his hand through his hair and looked away. "Well, you look like you have potential. See, one man cons aren't working for me anymore. I need a partner."

"I don't understand."

"Alright," he said, leaning forward and laying his forearms on the table. "You look like the kind of girl who could say thee sky is green and people will believe you. I can use that! Besides, you just ran away from home because you don't want to marry someone. Where are you going to go? Work with me, and I can make you rich."

He makes a valid point, she thought. Plus, she was rather fond of money . . .

Emily held out her hand. "Partners?"

William grinned and shook her hand. "Partners!"

* * *

**AN:** rubydesires back. I apologize for Nightshade. She is so full of herself. "Oi! I am not!" Yes, you are Nights. "So are you!" Mine is simply a front. "No you saying it's a front is a front!" . . . . What? "Ha!" Whatever. Sorry about that little argument, dear readers. Anyway, I would like to thank you for accepting Nights and Derrick so completely. Actually she went through a lot of changes before I thought she could enter the BJverse. Originally, she was his older sister. "Yup. He learned everything from me! From pranking to fashion!" _Ahem!_ As I was saying, I thought he needed someone to learn from. And yes, she originally wore a black and white striped women's suit. I'll draw a couple pictures of her.


	2. Ces't la morte

**AN:** Sweet Mother of Abraham Lincoln! This chapter was 3,381 words! Excluding ANs. Also it bled over to 11 pages!!! Holy crap! One little thing before you get started. Yes, the last chapter ended with BJ's and Nights' partnership beginning, and this chapter starts with them 20 years dead. There really wasn't anything else to write about in regards to their life that wasn't covered in Consequences. Now read! Wait, thanks to Acelions for his review. Now read!! Wait, one other thing. The j in majik is pronounced the same as the j in bonjour. Now go read!!!

* * *

"I'm tellin' ya, mistah! This here box is the gen-ewe-whine artifact! This fancy little thing belonged to Cleopatra. Even saved her life once. No collection is complete without it. So whaddya say? We got ourselves a deal?"

The ghost looked at the little box in Nightshade's hand. It really was just a little blue box with curly silver lines. Nothing at all special about it. But she did say is belonged to Cleopatra. That was pretty neat.

The male ghost nodded and pulled out his wallet, handing over sixty dollars.

Nightshade happily exchanged the box for the money and waved as he walked away. "Pleasure doin' business with ya!"

Beetlejuice chuckled as he watched another swindled customer walk away. "Seriously, if you said the sky was green, these people would believe you."

The young blonde looked up at the Neitherworld sky and frowned. "Yeah, but in this place the sky really could turn green." Then she grinned at her partner and pulled out an identical blue box from one of the pockets of her trench coat. "But we're not tryin' to sell the sky."

"So who did that box belong to?"

"Dunno yet," she said, looking for her next sucker.

A green haired woman with an ice pick in the side of her neck caught Nights' attention.

However, she was unable to do anything because, suddenly, the ground started shaking. All the Neitherworld denizens, except Nights' and BJ, screamed and ran. Unnaturally soon, the pair found themselves alone in the middle of the street. Beetlejuice looked at Nightshade, brow quirked, and she just shrugged in response. Then, they nearly fell on their asses when the ground started shaking again, even more violently. After it stopped, a giant shadow loomed over them. Slowly, they turned around and were met with the face of a huge purple and grey striped . . . thing. It greeted them by opening its huge, teeth filled maw and roared at the two ghosts, causing their blond hair to be blown back. Nightshade and Beetlejuice stared at the creature. Next, they both screeched, spun around, and ran. It was all quite comical, actually.

The blond poltergeists ran and ran, taking sharp turns when they could, crashing into objects occasionally, but the creature still chased them.

They had just taken another turn when Nightshade found herself in Juno's office. She stopped, and Beetlejuice crashed into her, causing them to fall. Juno rolled her eyes as they disappeared from her sight in front of her desk.

"Get yer fat ass offa me!"

"Quit squirmin'!"

A very brief silence.

"What is _that_?"

"I'm a _guy_!"

"_EW! GET __**OFF!**_"

Juno heard Beetlejuice yelp, and Nightshade crawled into one of the chairs. She hugged her knees to her chest and glared down at the male ghost. "And give me my hat!"

The case worker saw a black and white striped arm hold up Nights' black fedora. Nights grabbed her hat and put it back on her head.

Beetlejuice pulled himself up into the other chair and glared at Nights. "Ya didn't havta _kick_ me."

"Oh, I so did have to kick you!"

"I told ya ta quit squirmin'!"

"You, sir, are disgusting."

"Are you two finished?" Juno snapped before Beetlejuice could say anything back.

When neither of them responded, Juno continued. "Well, it took twenty years, but you just had your first run in with a sandworm."

"Sandworm?" Nights echoed.

"Yes, sandworm. They like to eat ghosts. They _love_ poltergeists. We think it has something to do with your powers. Anyway, I suggest you run for your goddamn afterlives as soon as one shows up. You don't want to get eaten. It's not a fun experience."

The unlucky (or lucky, depending on how one looks at it) poltergeists nodded, realizing just how close they were to being eaten.

* * *

"BJ BJ BJ BJ BEEEEEEJAAAAAAY!"

Beetlejuice stared at Nightshade bouncing in midair. She was acting like a little kid, her hands clasped in front of her chest, and her jade green eyes wide, and bright.

"What, Nights?"

"Guess what! There's going to be a ball! Every one hundred years, the Royals hold a ball! Can we go can we go can we go PA-LEEEEEEZZZZ?!"

BJ smirked. "You really want ta go?"

"Yes!"

"Fine, we'll go."

Nightshade squealed and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on his cheek. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!"

* * *

Three days later, they were waltzing at the ball.

Nightshade was wearing a dark green, sleeveless, full length dress of her own design, and Beetlejuice was in his usual outfit.

"BJ, the prince keeps staring at me."

"Nights, every guy in here who isn't _gay_ is starin' at you. Actually, I think they're starin' at you, too."

The two quickly became the center of attention. Moving in perfect harmony, it was hard to see the pranksters and con artists they were. Of course, if anyone said that to their face, Beetlejuice would laugh, and Nightshade would deck them.

Soon, the current song ended, and Beetlejuice left to chase some skirt, leaving Nightshade alone.

But she wasn't alone for long. Prince Vince was soon at her side, bowing and asking for the next dance. Nightshade looked around her, not really sure what to do. So she nodded, and accepted his hand. He _was_ a prince, after all.

"Beetlejuice is a lucky ghost to have someone as beautiful as you by his side," Vince told her as they danced.

Nightshade shrugged, saying, "Someone has to keep him in line."

"You must see something in him no one else does to be his lover."

_Lover?!_ Nightshade broke away from the prince, slashing the air with her hands to emphasize her point.

"We are _not_ lovers! Sure, there was that one time, but when a priest starts condemning you to Hell 'cause he thinks you're makin' out with your brother, it kinda ruins the mood, even if you are drunk!"

Vince gave her a very confused look. "But you two are partners."

"_Business _partners!"

"_Inseparable_ business partners?"

"Look, we have a very-close-siblings-esque relationship. I love the guy, but not like _that!_"

"So you are not _with_ him?"

"No, we are not together."

"Are you with anyone?"

"Nope."

Vince seemed to be thinking over her response.

"Would you be my princess?"

Nightshade's jaw dropped to the floor. Literally. She looked down at her floored jaw, and somehow managed to "Eep". Quickly bending down, she picked up her lower mandible, and reconnected it to it's upper half.

"Okay, that was awkward," she said, standing up and looking at the expectant Vince. Oh yeah, he had practically asked her to marry him. "Ummm, look, Vince." Hey, as far as she was concerned, they had reached a first-name basis relationship. "I'm a grifter, and a prankster. _Not _the right girl for you. Besides, you're not exactly my type. You're way too depressing. I'm sorry. I really am. But it just really wouldn't work out between us."

The prince slowly nodded. "I must respect you for your honest answer. It is a shame, though. You really are beautiful."

After he left her, Nightshade wiped the spit off her neck where her tongue had fell against it when her jaw decided to disconnect. Yeah, that had been really weird and awkward. Not just the jaw part. The entire encounter.

* * *

Nightshade slammed the door to her apartment closed and stomped into her bedroom. Her and B's latest prank had failed epically. They were going to shoot the Mayor with blue goop, but the gun had literally backfired, and covered the two blondes in said blue goop. Nights had glared at Beetlejuice, and he had grinned at her.

Her boots clacked against the tile of the bathroom.

"Why must you be so craptastic?" she demanded of her shower with a glare.

The shower in question was cramped, just barely tall enough for her, and the water pressure was low. It wasn't even a good color! Looked like burnt caramel. At least she had hot water, even if she had to wait a few minutes.

Turning on the water, Nights pulled off her goop covered clothes and dropped them to the floor in a pile.

"I will deal with you later," she told the pile. First, she needed to clean her hair before she had a panic attack.

The blood red scrunchie that held her ponytail was stuck. She yanked on it a few more times. Nope, it wasn't gonna move.

She glared at her reflection. Tried to, at least. the mirror had gotten steamed up so all she could see of her self was gold and bright blue for her hair, and a pale figure.

Sighing, she pointed at her scrunchie and it disappeared from her hair, only to pop back into existence on her pile of clothes.

At least if should have. She tilted her head, examining her silhouette in the fogged up mirror. Her hair hadn't spread out. Gingerly touching the back of her head, she realized the scrunchie had, indeed, vanished from her hair, but the goop had kept the ponytail intact.

"Oh, you are so going to pay for this, BJ," she growled, stepping into the shower.

She jerked the curtain closed behind her and sat down, resting her head on her knees. Nightshade smiled softly as the weak flow of hot water fell over her body, slowly washing away all the icky blue crap and whatever else dirt had gotten on her.

Reaching up, Nights grabbed her bottle of strawberry shampoo, and started the long process of cleaning her hip length hair. It usually took about fifteen minutes, and a quarter of the large bottle.

The blonde ran her hands through her hair to make sure all the suds and gunk had been washed out. Once she was satisfied with that, she put the shampoo back and got the body wash and washcloth.

Damn, she was going to have to stand up for this. Nights set the bottle of body wash on the floor of the shower, and put on of the corners of the washcloth between her teeth. Shifting her body so her feet were under her, she stood straight up, picking up the body wash.

She squeezed a glop of the matching strawberry scented gel onto the dark blue washcloth and rubbed it to lather it. Nightshade quickly ran the cloth over her pale body since the water was starting to lose its heat.

A lot happier now that she was clean, Nights got out of her still craptastic shower, and wrapped herself in one of the soft, white towels from the shelf.

Then she looked at the pile of clothes. Under normal circumstances, her blood red blouse would have been ruined. But Nightshade was a poltergeist. All she had to do was majik it.

Nights pointed a long, red nailed finger at the pile and zapped it with a bit of her power. The trench coat, blouse, pants, boots, and scrunchie were spotless. She realized a bit too late she should have worn her hat. Then her hair wouldn't have gotten so icky.

The blonde floated into her bedroom, and dropped down on her bed.

They hadn't had a successful con in five years. Everyone knew them. Even the pranks had been failing. She couldn't get out of this crappy apartment if they couldn't make any money from cons. Also, B kept getting in trouble, and bailing him out often included spending money.

As much as she hated the idea, Nights needed an honest job. But who the hell would hire her?

Sighing, she looked at the sketches that covered the walls of her bedroom. Most of them were complete outfits. She had a few that were either just shirts or pants. All of her designs would be mixed and matched, but some just worked better than others. Thus the completed outfits.

Nightshade had started designing clothes at the age of seventeen when she had finally gotten annoyed enough with the dull and boring fashions of 1300s England. Of course, her ideas back then were still largely based on the current fashions, but after she died, a whole new world of fashion design opened up.

She grinned as an idea to solve all her problems formed. Would people like her stuff? If they did, she could sell it.

There really was only one way to find out.

Nights jumped off her bed and threw open her closed door. Digging through various garments, she pulled out a pleated, dark blue mini skirt, and a cream colored pullover shirt. She loved the shirt. It had poofy long sleeves, and the sleeves and "neckline" lay a few inches below her collar bones, exposing her shoulders. She threw them on her bed and walked over to her dresser. There was only one problem with the shirt. It required to use of a strapless bra. Nights _hated_ wearing those. Always felt like it was going to fall. But there was no way in hell she was gonna go braless. It felt awkward and she found it creepy and disturbing when other chicks did it.

Opening the top drawer, Nights sorted through her . . . _unmentionables_. The blonde had always found that term rather hilarious. No idea _why_. Maybe it was because whenever someone said "unmentionables" everybody immediately knew what you were mentioning.

Finally, she pulled out three bras. A light pink strapless, a red with clear straps, and a dark blue with lace straps. Now, she just had to figure out which to wear.

The pink wouldn't show, but she'd feel funny. The red would show, but at least the straps were clear. But since she wasn't going to cover her shoulders, she'd have shiny strips, and that was not sexy. This blue one, though. It would definitely show, but it matched the skirt, and the lace straps were fuckin' sexy. And to make it even better, this one had matching panties!

She dug through the drawer again to find said panties, and a pair of fishnet stockings caught her eye.

Literally.

"Goddamnit! May the Fae steal your babies from their cribs!" she yelled, untangling her right eye from the stocking. Oh, how she _hated_ when shit like this happened. All she really had to do was subconsciously think of some pun or figure of speech and it would happen! She and B had termed it "The Curse of the Poltergeist".

After she had freed her eye and popped it back in her head, Nights pulled out the three items and put on the outfit.

Now, she needed boots. She walked back into the bathroom and picked up the pile of clothes and her boots. She went back into her bedroom, plopped down on the edge of the bed, dropped her clothes next to her, and pulled on her boots. At the moment, they were mid calf length. Nights wanted them longer. So she grabbed the tops, majiked them, and pulled them up to mid thigh. Much better!

"Time to take this sucker for a test drive!"

* * *

Three weeks later, Nightshade was ready to open her shop at the Shocking Mall.

Midnight Desires. She. Loved. It.

It wasn't that big, about thirty five by fifty feet, but she had majiked the back room to bend the space continuum for a place to keep the rest of her inventory. It was pretty sweet!

The place was lit with a soft golden glow, and all along the walls were drapes of dark gold, red, and black. A full length mirror hung between each drape. The clothes hung on various racks spread out on the floor.

Nightshade was at the back of her store, sitting at the long counter. She only had to wait five minutes to be officially open.

She had waited this long, another five minutes wasn't going to kill her. Besides, she was already dead.

After that damn near eternal wait of five minutes passed, Nights flicked her hand towards the door, unlocking it. Any second now, ghosts and monsters were gonna come rushin' in!

Any second now.

Any second . . .

. . . perhaps they didn't get the memo.

Nightshade's head dropped to the counter. This time, she just sighed in annoyance as her curse took effect. She'd reconnect her head when she had a customer.

A few minutes of her body drumming her fingers against the counter top, and her head just laying there passed before she heard the ting of the bell announcing the opening of the door.

Quickly, Nightshade grabbed her head, and jammed it back on her neck. Her huge grin turned into an annoyed frown when she saw who had walked in.

"Beetlejuice, what the hell are you doin'?"

The other blond poltergeist didn't say anything as she looked at various outfits. Nights watched him suspiciously while he walked through her store.

"I'd wear this," he said, examining a red tux.

"No, you'd steal it."

"Aw, Nights, I'm crushed!" His eyes widened as he realized what he said before a boulder appeared over his head, and fell to crush him.

Nightshade snickered and slipped off her stool to walk over to her crushed partner. She snapped her fingers, and the boulder disappeared. Beetlejuice groaned as he stood back up.

"Don't ya hate it when that happens?"

"Yup," Nights answered before she looked at the tux he was talking about before he got crushed.

It was on of her early designs. A dark red velvet jacket and pants, a red vest, and a cream ruffled shirt.

"You'd really wear that?"

"Nights, would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

"About somethin' like this?"

"Umm, no?"

"Alright, then."

"But you'd still steal it."

"Yeah."

Nightshade shook her head, smirking. She could either wait for him to "steal it", or she could just give it to him. It didn't cost that much to make, so it didn't bother her. Nights took it off the rack and handed the tux to Beetlejuice.

"Just take it. This way, I won't have to clean anythin' up when you decide to break in."

* * *

Finally!

Nightshade had finally moved out of her crappy apartment. And into a huge ass mansion! Now, she would have rooms for her collections instead of majiked boxes.

Her new house was three stories, and it looked like it belonged in Athens, Greece. She absolutely loved it.

It had only taken a month after she opened Midnight Desires to make enough money to buy the mansion. The best idea this grifter ever had was getting an honest job. Funny how that worked.

The poltergeist was currently working on the emptying of one of her "collection boxes". This one contained her obsession. Juno had told it hasn't healthy, this obsession of hers.

"What the hell does that old bag know, anyway," Nights grumbled, setting one of her many music boxes on the shelves that lined three of the four walls.

She had placed a column about three feet tall in the middle of the room. There was even a little red pillow on it.

This was for the music box that started it all. The damn thing that got her killed. She hadn't found it yet. But she would.

Eventually.

* * *

About two hundred years later, Nightshade bought a mirror.

Why? Because she thought it was cool.

It was oval shaped, three feet in height, two feet in width.

It was also dirty.

Nights hung it up on the wall next to her bed and gently stroked the dull black frame.

She placed her hand on either side of the frame, and zapped it with her majik, giving the frame a glossy shine and the glass was clear of dirt and grime.

But it wasn't her reflection looking back at her.

There was a boy with black, shoulder length hair, tan skin, and dark blue eyes.

* * *

**AN:** I see you made it to the end! More Fun Facts about Nightshade! She's named after NiGHTS. Who is from one of Sonic Team's video games. But that had to be her nickname. So I thought about Nightmare Before Christmas. And that part where Sally goes to the graveyard to stock up on some Deadly Nightshade. Then "Emily" came from Corpse Bride.


	3. Revenge?

**AN:** Huh, this one didn't take long. It's a little dialog heavy, but that's how it worked out, so it's about 300 words shorter than normal. Thanks to AceLions for his review.

**Damnit! Nights died way before Bach was even born! Crap. What does this mean? It means the music box couldn't play Sleepers Wake. Okay, I'm gonna have to fix that asap. Sorry, about that, folks.**

* * *

The two stared at each other for five minutes before Nightshade asked, "What the hell are you doin' my mirror?"

The boy blinked and rubbed his hand over his face. "I must not be gettin' enough sleep," he mumbled in his thick texan accent.

"What?! You think your measly little breather mind made me up due to lack of sleep?"

"Breather?"

"Yeah, you're a breather. AKA _alive_. Hey, kid, you still didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Why are you in my mirror," Nights said slowly.

"Lady, you're in mine."

Nightshade raised a brow, and started to lean forward so she could examine his side of the mirror. She stopped, though, before she could pass through the glass. She still had her fedora on, and the rim would block the kid from her view. So she took it off, and tossed it on her bed. Then she passed her torso through the glass and looked at the frame of his mirror. It was the same.

"What's your name, kid?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Derrick. What's yours?"

Nightshade smirked, and rested her forearms on the bottom frame of the mirror. "I can't tell you that, cowboy."

"Why not?"

"'Cause if I tell you, you'll tell yer friends, and yer friends . . . okay, Ace, I physically cannot say my one name. We can play a little game, though, and you can guess it."

"Okay."

"So, the first part of my name is the opposite of day."

"Night?"

"Yup. The second part is . . . um, let's see . . . goes over a lamp?"

"Somethin' that goes over a lamp?"

"Yes."

"Nothin' goes over a lamp. Bad things'll happen."

"No, no, no, the coney thing!"

"Lampshade?"

"Yes!"

"Your name is Night Lampshade?"

"No. Take out 'lamp'."

"Nightshade?"

"That's it! Now say it two more times."

"Why?"

Nightshade blinked, taken aback by his blunt question. No one had ever asked why. Of course, most people summoned her on accident. It usually happened when they were looking for the plant that shared her name.

"Well," she said, after a short pause. "You wanna have fun, right?"

Derrick shrugged. "Who doesn't?"

Nights lightly bit her bottom lip, trying to look cute. "I'm the funnest chick you'll ever meet."

The kid smirked and crossed his arms. "'Funnest' ain't a word."

"'Ain't' ain't one, either," she growled, dropping the cute persona. The little brat had waited too long, and she could feel the last threads of the summons dissipate. Nights stood up, and leaned her shoulder against the frame, glaring at the breather.

"Fine. Nightshade, Nightshade."

"Say it again."

"But--"

"You waited too long! Now fuckin' say my name!"

"Nightshade."

The blonde grinned as the summons pulled her to the other side, and she rematerialized, sitting on the end of his bed.

Now, she was able to get a good look at him. His jet black, shoulder length hair was slick back, and he had a bit of a widow's peak. His skin was a dark golden tan from working out in the sun. He was wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and white socks. No shoes. The ghost's eyes widened slightly as she, ahem, noticed he has some . . . delicious muscles.

Blushing slightly, Nightshade looked away, finding her red nails rather interesting. "So, Ace, how old are you?"

"Sixteen, doll."

"Ah," she said, examining his room. The walls were a cream color, and the wood floors were a dark brown. A dresser in the corner against the wall across from the queen sized bed. A closet in the same wall. Night stands on either side of the bed, each with a little lamp. There was good sized window on the wall parallel to his bed, and the mirror hung across the room on the wall opposite the window. Not a small room, either.

Then she looked back at her breather. "So, where are we?"

"Midland, Texas." He was taking this all surprisingly well.

Nightshade nodded as a shiny object on his dresser caught her attention. She floated over, and picked it up.

_Emily held her breath as she she pressed her ear to the door of Blackthorn's study. She didn't hear anyone in the room, so she slowly opened to door. As soon as it was wide enough for her to slip though, she did so with one last look down the hall. Once she was in, she gently pushed the door closed behind her. Not checking to make sure the door latched shut, she walked over to the glass cabinet. She opened the cabinet and pulled out the fancy little music box._

"_As soon as William sees you, he'll know," she told it as she turned it over in her hands. "He'll know you'll be worth some shiny coins. Then he'll say 'Emily, you've done--'"_

_The young woman froze as a heavy hand gripped her shoulder. Oh, no._

"_I knew we couldn't trust you, _Amelia_." David, Blackthorn's most trusted servant. No. No, no, no._

_Emily screamed as she suddenly found herself over the big man's shoulder, the music box falling to the ground. She kicked as David walked to the library, showing little effort to keep the woman captive._

She nearly dropped the damn silver music box again.

"Hey, Derrick?" she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

"Yeah," he answered, walking up to her.

"What's your last name?"

"Blackthorn."

She took a deep breath she didn't need and looked over at him. "Family heirloom," she asked, holding up the little box slightly.

"Yeah. It don't work. Not for six hundred years, apparently. Story is, some chick tried to steal it. When she got caught, she dropped it. If you can fix it, you can keep it."

Nightshade zapped it with her majik. Then she turned the little handle type thing on the back and lifted the lid. Soft strains of Sleepers Wake drifted out of the music box.

"How did you . . ."

The ghost closed the lid and slipped the music box into one of the pockets of her trench coat. She ran her thumb over the tips of her fingers before answering.

"I'm a ghost. A poltergeist, to be exact. I have power."

His dark blue eyes lit up, and he looked at her with admiration. "What else can you do?"

Nightshade smirked. This kid was fueling her ego with that look.

"You like horses?"

"Of course! I _own _horses.

Nights moved to an empty space in his room and turned into a horse. There she stood, thirteen hands, her head held high. Blood red mane, tail, and hair above her hooves like a Clydesdale, and black for the rest of her body.

"Wow," he breathed, slowly walking over to her, and placing his hand on her soft velvet nose. "You're beautiful."

The only answer she gave him was the glitter of her jade green eyes.

After nearly six hundred year, Nightshade was going to get her revenge. She wasn't gonna kill the kid. That would be stupid. No, there were worse things than death. Now, she just had to figure out what.

* * *

**AN:** Yup. Time for fun facts! Let's see . . . She's got a chant thing, too. Y'know BJ's "though I know I should be wary" thing? Yeah, Nights has one, too. I figured all poltergeists would have it, and the first two lines would be the same. The third line is different because it has to rhyme with their name. Her chant will have a place in this story . . . I just gotta remember what the hell it was . . . Oh, and if you haven't seen, I have some new pics of Nightshade up. URL is over in my profile, and two of her pics are in my scraps instead of the gallery.


	4. Rodeo

**AN:** Let's get something straightened out. William is Beetlejuice. Emily is Nightshade. Beetlejuice/William and Nightshade/Emily have never been, nor ever will be, romantically involved. Kay? Kay. Thanks to Starling Powers, MarjorieAnnMurray, and Animekitty47 for their reviews. Also, Out-of-the-inside-box did a bit of fan art of Nights (http:// .com /art/BJ-and-NS-143016861). You should check it out. Also, I have a drawing of Derrick up. Now read!

* * *

Nightshade sat on the wood fence, her elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hands, and watched Derrick give one of his horses a bath.

It had been a week since they met, and the ghost still didn't have a plan. One would think six hundred years would give one time to come up with a revenge plan. But Nights was drawin' a blank. And it didn't help her any when a wee tiny voice in the back of her head kept saying she really didn't want to hurt the kid.

Derrick looked at Nights over the red mare's back. "How can you wear that? It's August!"

Nights glanced at her usual outfit of black trench coat, red blouse, black pants, boots, and fedora. "I'm dead," she answered with a shrug.

"So what, you can't feel heat?"

"I can."

"It just doesn't bother you?"

"Yup. Why do you wear jeans everyday?"

"'Cause I'm a cowboy, doll."

They were silent as Derrick washed the suds off the horse.

"Ace?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"What are you doin' today?"

"Gotta get ready for tonight's rodeo."

"You go to rodeos?"

Derrick chuckled and ran a brush through the horse's mane. Nights was shocked when she found herself slightly jealous. Apparently, she wanted Derrick to brush her hair.

"I'm in the rodeo, Nights."

That little crazy feeling of jealousy was quickly replaced with curiosity. "Really? What do you do?"

"You'll just have to come and find out."

* * *

Nights had been to several rodeos in the Neitherworld. It was one of the best places to make some quick cash. It was also rather entertaining, in a sadistic way. It was pretty damn hilarious when a demon stallion tramples its rider. She's seen a rider have hoof marks on his face for a week!

But this was the first time she had been to a Livingworld rodeo.

There was a different kind of thrill here. Probably because they could actually die. So there was that adrenaline rush associated with life-or-death entertainment.

All the races were over, and now it was time for the bull rides.

Derrick had said he was in the rodeo, but Nightshade hadn't seem him yet.

"Probably workin' concession," she muttered, playing with the woman's hair who sat in front of her. She grinned when the redhead turned around to glare at the man behind Nights. Being invisible definitely had its advantages!

She continued to annoy the redhead a six cowboys failed to ride whatever unlucky bull they got. Nights was getting bored, and she was going to leave when she heard the announcer's voice.

"And now, our youngest bull rider: Derrick Blackthorn!"

Nightshade forgot about her victim and sat up straight, her gaze going towards the pen that held the next bull.

"Oh, shit," she said as the announcer started again.

"This crazy cowboy has decided to try his luck with Reaver, the nastiest bull we got. As I'm sure y'all know, Reaver is undefeated. Iffin ya ask me, I'd say there's a lady he wants ta impress."

The crowd laughed and cheered. Nights, on the other hand, screamed.

"Derrick, you idiot! If yer tryin' ta be _macho_ fer me, then I'll kick yer ass!" Of course, it wasn't as if anybody could hear her.

Her idiot breather was in the saddle, ready to get himself killed.

The clock started, and the gat opened. Reaver shot out and immediately started bucking enough to give a statue whiplash.

Derrick lasted 1.3 seconds when Reaver tossed him off. He landed on the ground with a scream, his white western shirt turning crimson in a few places.

Reaver twirled around, ready to charge the kid.

There was no way in hell Nights was gonna let some animal gouge her breather. Nights was gonna get her revenge _her _way, and when _she_ wanted it.

The ghost flew to the charging animal, and possessed it. She figured it would be the fastest way to stop it.

She didn't think she'd have to fight for control, though.

She wanted to trample that annoying little human. That would teach the others to make an entertainment out of her. So what if she killed him? He should have realized he could die when he picked her. Now, she was going to--

_No!_ Nightshade silently screamed. I'm_ the one in control!_

Reaver had other ideas and fought the ghost, managing to get a few feet closer before Nights stopped him.

_Damnit, animals were _supposed _to be easy!_

The bull got control again, but Nights gained total control at the last possible moment, the bull's horns inches from Derrick's stomach. Nights' bull heart was pounding from both her panic and Reaver's exertions.

"You okay, Ace?" Nights asked with the bull's mouth. Hey, she was poltergeist, she could do it.

"Nights?" Derrick asked in a ragged voice.

"Hey."

He took a quick breath and winced. "I think my ribs are broken. And my arm. It hurts . . ."

"I know, I know. Why aren't those clown idiots helpin'?"

"'Cause Reaver's here. They won't get close to him."

"Once he leaves, they'll come help you?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, you pathetic excuse fer a burger," she growled (which was really weird, since she was a bull), forcing the animal to back up. Nightshade spun around and ran to the pen. She didn't relent on any control until the bull was in the pen with the gate shut behind them.

* * *

Nights stood in the corner of the hospital room, invisible, as the nurses did their thing. She wanted a smoke, but they'd smell it, so she settled for an argument with herself.

"Why the hell did I do that?"

_Because you don't want him to get hurt._

"No, I want him to hurt. That's the whole point of revenge."

_You don't want revenge._

"The hell I don't! The reason I'm dead is 'cause his some-odd-great granddaddy."

_And what's the point of taking it out on him? And what would it accomplish? It's not like his death would bring you back!_

"And who said I wanted to be alive again?! I never said that! I _like _being dead."

_So shouldn't you _thank_ him, instead of trying to ruin his life?_

"How dare you be logical!"

_One of us has to be._

"I'm done talkin' to you," she told the annoying voice, crossing her arms. This voice had decided to make itself known when she met Derrick. It kept telling her she didn't want to do anything bad to the kid, and it would find flaws in all her plans. What the hell did it know?!

After the nurses left, Nightshade made herself visible. She pushed off the wall with her shoulder blades, and walked the few steps to Derrick's bed. Nights sat on the edge, and gave him a half smile.

"Soooo, two broken ribs, and a humorous fractured in three places."

"Yeah," he said weakly.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?! Ridin' a monster like that!"

"Glad to know you care."

"Yeah, well, yer my . . . yer my friend," she mumbled, looking away, and rubbing the back of her neck.

_See? I told you!!_

Nightshade ignored the little voice.

"Hey, Ace, I, uh, got somethin' fer ya," she said, standing up and digging through one of her pockets of her trench coat. Nights loved those pockets. They could hold anything, and they _did_ hold anything. She had a cannon in one of them somewhere (hey, never know when you'll need one), and possibly a flamethrower. At one point in time, there had been a cow, a complete jazz band, and a grand piano. Don't ask.

Derrick watched, curious, as the ghost pulled out various packs of cigarettes, some bottles of rum and whiskey, a broken zipper, hot pink shoelaces, a rock, a gold scarab, and a Playboy.

She looked at the magazine in her hand, then at Derrick.

"This isn't mine."

"They why was it in your pocket?"

"Ummmm . . . I think I was holdin' it for somebody." More like Beetlejuice put it there.

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway," she said, putting the magazine in the pile on the bed. "None of this crap is what I'm lookin' for . . ." Nights went back to her excavation.

After she pulled out a few more random things (including a feather and CD player), she finally found it.

"Um, here," she said, handing Derrick a black braided bracelet with blood red and black alternating beads.

He took it, and held it up. "A bracelet?" he asked, brow raised.

"Yeah," she muttered, returning her stuff to her pockets. It wasn't anything special, but if he accepted it, she'd have a closer link with him. Just to, y'know, have a greater impact with her revenge.

_Uh-huh, sure it is._

"Shut up!" Nights growled under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothin'!" she told Derrick with a grin.

The breather shrugged with one shoulder. He held out the bracelet to her. "I can't put it on. Help?"

"Of course, my little invalid," she said, slipping the bracelet on his left wrist. She could feel the slight tug on her consciousness as the link was established. Only there for revenge purposes.

* * *

**AN:** Fun fact about Derrick! "Derrick" is how I've always spelled "Derek" because I originally thought it was correct, and now it's just what I do. A few days ago I discovered this: "Derrick: _Machinery_. a jib crane having a boom hinged near the base of the mast so as to rotate about the mast, for moving a load toward or away from the mast by raising or lowering the boom. Also called oil derrick the towerlike framework over an oil well or the like. a boom for lifting cargo, pivoted at its inner end to a ship's mast or kingpost, and raised and supported at its outer end by topping lifts." . . . . . . . . TOO LATE TO CHANGE IT NOW!!! Okay, so next chapter won't be up till after my x-mas story, which I'm working on now. Have fun!


	5. Jealous much?

The house was a tall gothic medieval castle, but it had a small twist. It was bright pink.

**AN: **Ahem, sorry 'bout that. It wasn't me. I swear.

* * *

**NA: **She lies it was her. All of this is her, nothing but her. ....... she lies, she is like cake.

* * *

**AN:** Yeah, I'm delicious like cake. Okay, that wasn't me, either. Honest. Moving on! So, my apologies for this taking forever, but well, I had a tad bit of writer's block when I started this chapter, but s'all gud now. Thanks to AceLions and Animekitty47 for their reviews! MWHA!

* * *

Two months after Derrick's "rodeo incident", Nightshade was laying on his bed, watching him go through his closet.

"What exactly are you doin'?" she asked him when he pulled out three different shirts.

"I'm tryin' to figure out what I'm goin' to wear."

"For?"

"Birthday party tonight."

Nightshade rolled over onto her belly. He was going to a party? Why hadn't she known about it? That ruined all her plans. She was going to take him to the Neitherworld tonight, to the _shadier_ parts of town. The plan was to scare him, and scar him mentally for all eternity. The only issue was that was the most common place for sandworms, since most poltergeists stayed there.

"Whose party?"

"Mine," he said, trying on a light blue western shirt.

"It's your birthday?!"

"Yup."

"So, you're, what, seventeen now?"

"Yeah." He took off the blue one, and pulled on a dark green one.

Nightshade shook her head, and crawled off the bed. She took off her trench coat, and tossed it on the bed, before walking over to his closet. Gods help him, the third shirt he had out was _light pink_! She knew some guys who could work with it, but Derrick? People would think he was a poof! And that would be detrimental to both their reputations.

"Doll, what're ya doin'?"

"Savin' yer reputation," she answered, flicking through the shirts. What he needed was either dark colors, or something sunny. Not pink. And he was pushing it with light blue. Her hand stopped on a deep red. That would work. She pulled it out with a flourish and held it out to him.

"What is it you and red?" he asked, slightly annoyed, but took it anyway.

"You look good in red. 'Sides, it'll match yer bracelet."

He rolled his eyes, and she smiled brightly when he slipped it on over his usual white undershirt.

Nights snapped her fingers, making a brush appear in her hand, and started running it through his hair. She brushed it this way and that, trying to find the best look, while he snapped the buttons in his western shirt.

"Now I know how Cousin It feels," he muttered when she flipped his hair down in front of his face.

"Hey, don't be disin' the Addams. I'm good friends with Morticia. Hell, she's one of my best customers!"

"You have a job?" he asked, dark eyebrows up in surprise when he could see her again.

"Of course I got a job! Cons can only pay so many bills." Yeah, he knew about her status as a con artist, but he never suspected he was a target. At least, she didn't think he did. "I own a clothing store. Called Midnight Desires. I can show you tonight, if you want to come to the Neitherworld after your little party. Oh, can I come to this shindig?"

"Wait, I can go to the Neitherworld?"

"Yeah, if you know a chant. We're all about magic, us deadies."

"What chant?"

"Can I come to the party?" She gave up trying to find a new way to fix his hair, and just brushed it straight back, waiting for his answer.

"An older woman at my party? Ma ain't gonna like that." He paused. "But if you can come as, I dunno, somethin' different . . ."

Nightshade thought back through all her aliases. Most were women, but she had a few males in her repertoire.

"Tell yer ma, yer new friend Taylor is comin' over."

"Taylor what?"

"Taylor Davenport."

* * *

Nights had to make some major adjustments to Taylor. The biggest one being he needed to look alive, instead of six hundred plus years dead. She had to de-point her ears, de-red her nails, and normalize her tongue. Not to mention get rid of her pale, with a slight violet tinge, skin tone.

Taylor Davenport stood at six-foot-two (a good eight inches taller than Nightshade), his hair short, dark blond, and spiky, normal shaped ears, normal pink tongue, and with a slightly tanned skin tone. He had kept Nights jade green eyes, and color scheme for his outfit. Said outfit consisted of a black jean jacket, blood red western shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. Since Nightshade needed to express herself _somehow_, other than the color scheme, she had an image of, well, nightshade stitched into the sides of the boots. She rather liked it.

He leaned against the railing of the porch that went around the Blackthorn's house. It definitely wasn't the estate back in England, but it sure as hell wasn't bad. Of course, it looked like it belonged more on a plantation, than a ranch.

Taylor smirked a little. Nightshade had seen quite a bit of action during the slave trading days. Sometimes she missed it. Not the slave trading part, but back then, people actually knew about her, and summoned her on purpose.

Anyway, this was not the time to be reminiscing. Nights/Taylor had a party to go to.

* * *

Nights was back in Derrick's room, still wearing Taylor's clothes. Since the guy was so much taller (and slightly wider) than her, the sleeves of both the jacket and shirt covered her hands with a few inches to spare, and she had to hold up the pants.

The party had gone without a hitch. Except for the little brunette ditz who wouldn't stop flirting with her Derrick. Little bitch just wouldn't take a hint. Nights was about to put the girl's head through a window before Derrick managed to hand her off to some other guy.

Her Ace walked into his room, and smiled at her.

"You looked like you were about to kill Amy."

"Killin' breathers puts ya in deep," she paused, making sure she had her majik under control, "shit. So, you ready to go to the Neitherworld?"

He nodded, and she snapped her fingers, putting her back in her usual outfit.

"Okay, Ace, repeat after me: _Though I know I should be wary_."

"Though I know I should be wary."

"_Still I venture someplace scary_."

"Still I venture someplace scary."

"_Quick before the majiks fade_."

"Quick before the majiks fade."

"My name three times."

"Nightshade, Nightshade, Nightshade."

* * *

**AN: **I've decided to break this up into two chapters. Why? So I can get it to you faster! That and I still don't know what Derrick wears in the Neitherworld.

Nightshade: Who says he has to wear anythin'?

rubydesires: Nights! You ain't supposed to be thinkin' like that in regards to Derrick yet! Anyway, the next chapter shall consist of Neitherworldian shenanigans and sandworms.

Nightshade: Sandworms?! As in more than one?!?! *screams and runs*

rubydesires: Mine is an evil laugh! MWAHAHAHA!!!


	6. Time to panic

**AN: **Well, this chapter was full of surprises! Let's just say it wasn't what I had thought up a few days ago. Oh! So y'know how I said the music box couldn't play Sleepers, Wake 'cause Nights died way before Bach was born? Well, today I did a little research to figure out what song it could play. The first music box wasn't made until the 16th century. Nights died during the 14th century. See the little issue? This is what I get for assuming things. I figured "Hey, music boxes are pretty simple, so they must have been made pretty early on in the world." Yeah, not so much. However, during the 9th century, the Arabs created a hydropowered organ. So I'm not fabricating history _too_ much. I hope that's okay with all of you. Still need to find a new song, though. Thanks to AceLions, Dark Angel Erissa, and Animekitty47 for their reviews. Luffs for you!

* * *

Nightshade watched in amazement as Derrick's room was transformed into her little pocket of the transitional place between the two realms. Even after six hundred years, she still found it absolutely stunning, and she doubted it would ever lose its wonder.

Thick moss quickly covered the floorboards, as trees appeared and seemed to push his room out of existence. In the middle of it all, two stone pillars formed, with another laying across the top. Vines crawled along the stones, and dark green sparkles floated through the air.

She smirked at Derrick, but it left when she noticed he wasn't even looking at the scenery. He was too focused on his clothes. Nights tilted her head. Now that she was paying attention to his outfit, she didn't blame him.

His long black duster was embroidered with complicated celtic knots in gold thread. He wore a simple button down black shirt, black leather chaps over blood red pants, and a black belt with a gold buckle in the shape of a bull skull. The cowboy boots were black as well, with the nightshade plant stitched into the sides in gold thread, and they had gold spurs with blood red tips. The only other splash of color was a plain blood red bandana at his neck.

"Wow," was all she managed to say.

"I look good," he said, grinning at her.

"No, you look _damn_ good," she corrected with her own grin.

Then he ran his tongue over his lips and looked around. "Why does the Neitherworld taste like strawberries?"

"This ain't the Neitherworld, Ace. This is my Gateway. We're between realms at the moment." She didn't want to address the strawberry observation yet. He shouldn't have been able to pick it up that quickly.

"So how do we get there?"

Nightshade walked up to the Stonehenge-esque formation of stones and tapped the area within. The air rippled as if someone had tossed a pebble into a calm pond.

"We walk through the gate." She then turned to face him, and walked backwards through the gate. On the other side, the gate was identical, even the vines were in the same position. She glanced over her shoulder at her mansion a few yards down the road. One of the reasons she wanted it was the fact it was alone on the road, so her Gate wouldn't be cramped among other buildings. A poltergeist's Gate followed them, appearing in the Neitherworld close to where ever they lived.

"So, this is the Neitherworld?"

Nightshade looked back towards the gate at the sound of Derrick's voice. She smirked again when she saw him, and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket.

"Yup," she said as she lit it and took a drag.

His brow furrowed as he watched her blow a smoke ring. "You . . . smoke?"

"Yup," she said again. "I don't on your side since fa--" Nightshade stopped, took a deep breath, and continued, but using a different word, "cigarettes tend to have a rather distinctive scent. People get ant--" She paused again. "People get nervous when they smell cigarette smoke out of nowhere."

Nights noticed his questioning look, probably in regards to her stop-and-go explanation.

"The Neitherworld tends to take a literal approach to everything. Poltergeists have it worse, though. We've got more power than others, so if we let it build up, this world will take what we say and make it happen. It happens to me on your side, too, but I can control it better there."

"Oh. What're gonna do?"

Nightshade thought it over for a moment. "Well, we'll go get my car, then we'll go into town. Bars are always fun!"

"I'm seventeen, Nights."

"It's almost midnight, Derrick. Most other places are closed. Besides, it's great fun to heckle to karaoke-ers."

~*~

Down at a somewhat respectable bar, Nightshade had a strawberry daiquiri (her usual), and Derrick was drinking a Sprite (Apparently, it was his favorite, but Nights opted to not inform him it was made from actual sprites. As long as it tasted the same as the lemon-lime carbonated beverage, she wasn't going to tell him any different.).

The female poltergeist could only take so much of this woman's sad attempt at a country song. She nudged Derrick's shin with her boot to get his attention.

"Watch this," she whispered.

A large burlap sack appeared above the woman, and it quickly scooped her up, the strings tying up in a bow once she was secure inside. Nights applauded with the rest of the bar-goers, making it seem like she was innocent.

Derrick, however, shot her a disappointed look and shook his head. "That wasn't very nice. She was only trying."

Nightshade sighed in annoyance. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not a very nice person. I'll only do _nice_ things if it'll help me."

"You're nice to me."

"'Cause . . . 'cause yer m'friend," she mumbled. Not like she was actually going to tell him she only did it to make it hurt even worse when she got her revenge.

"You're my best friend, Nights, but . . . that doesn't mean I like what you did to her." He got up to leave.

"Derrick!" she called after him, but he just kept walking. "Aw, come on, Ace!"

But he left, not even turning around.

_Nice one._

"Oh, I see you've decided to come back," she told the voice in her head.

_I've been here the entire time, _it told her in it's crisp british accent.

"Just mercifully silent."

Nights had the unnerving sense of it rolling it eyes.

_That's because you haven't done anything stupid as of late. But that? That was stupid. You may have just lost you're best friend._

"Whatever. I don't need him."

_Liar. Why do you think you wanted to kill that breather girl at the party? Why do you get so jealous when he talks about other girls?_

"I do not get jealous!"

_Because you love him!_

"That's . . . that's ridiculous! I don't . . . I don't love him."

Why would she love him? He was just some breather. Okay, he wasn't _just some breather_. He was a Blackthorn. His family was the reason she was in this mess to begin with.

_And you enjoy his company, Emily._

"I'm not Emily! I'm Nightsh--" She gasped as an intense pain lanced through her skull.

_Fine, __**Nights**__, but you'd better go after him, or your __**revenge**__ will be a lost cause._

Hmm, the annoying voice had a point.

Nights quickly stood and left the bar, hoping he hadn't gone far. Luckily, he hadn't. She found him leaning against her convertible that was parked a little ways down the street.

But before she could go to him, another female poltergeist ran past her screaming, "Run, Nightshade! They're right behind me!"

Nightshade turned to look in the direction the woman was running from, and saw two sandworms come around the corner.

Like any poltergeist would, Nightshade shrieked and ran. In fact, she even ran past Derrick. But as soon as that little tidbit of information registered, Nights skidded to a halt, made an about face, ran back to him, grabbed his hand, and practically dragged him down the street. No way was some (huge and absolutely terrifyin') _worm_ was gonna eat her Derrick. If anyone was going to eat him, it would be her.

It was then a rather, _ahem_, image of her and Derrick flashed in her mind at the (possibly?) unfortunate word choice.

Nightshade made a sharp turn down an alley, and smashed her head against the brick wall trying to physically dislodge the mental image (that was causing an odd and fluttery feeling in her stomach) from her head.

"What were those?" Derrick asked, breathing hard, a few minutes after the creatures had passed.

"Sandworms," she answered.

But, surprisingly, her mind wasn't on the creatures that would love nothing more than to devour her. Instead, she was thinking about what the voice had said, and the feeling that hadn't left with the image had.

* * *

**AN:** Poor, poor, Nights. Reviews mean you love me, so show the love and leave a comment! I've fixed it so I now accept anonymous reviews.


	7. What if?

**AN:** Okay, I'm afraid I'm going to offend someone in regards to a little part in this chapter. Look, I take suicide as a serious matter. Which is why the result of Nights' little temper tantrum is what it is. Thanks to Animekitty47 and AceLions for their reviews.

* * *

It was a week later, and Nightshade had smashed her head against various hard objects several times. She was convinced those "lovely visions" were the voice's fault.

The poltergeist was currently sitting on Derrick's couch, keeping her mind absolutely empty, since anything seemed to set an image off.

_Why are you having such a huge issue with this?_

"My _is-ew_--"

_And now you're making fun of the way I talk. Just because you don't talk like a brit anymore, it doesn't mean you can do that._

"Do you _want _me to explain?"

_Yes_.

"Then shut up. My problem is I'm twenty-four--"

_You're a little older than __**that**__, Nights._

"Would you stop?! I'm twenty-four, and he's seventeen. Even when I was alive, that wouldn't've been approved of."

_So wait till he's twenty-four, twenty-five, and __**then**__ marry him._

"Marriage?! I never said _anything _about marrying him! Where the hell you gettin' yer information?"

_I'm your __**subconscious**__, Nights. Duh._

Nights opened her mouth to argue, but quickly closed it. She didn't want to marry the guy. Right? No way. She wanted her revenge. Yeah, so marriage was nowhere in the agenda.

Right?

She yelped when a can of Fanta Orange appeared in front of her face. The ghost took the offered soda, and glared at the breather when he sat next to her on the couch.

"What?" he asked, opening his own soda (Sprite, not made from real sprites). "I thought that was your favorite."

"It is," she mumbled, popping the tab, and taking a drink. The soda had quickly become her favorite when Derrick introduced it to her a few days after they met.

"So, doll, my parents are out of town, buying another horse, and they won't be back till tomorrow afternoon. That means, we got the whole house to ourselves. What're we gonna do?"

Nights was about to shrug in reply when an image flashed in her mind, yet again. This one involved finding out just how flexible he could be.

"'Scuse me a moment," she said, setting down her soda, and majiked herself outside. She didn't want him to see her blow her brains out. Since she was dead, it wouldn't cause any permanent damage (it'd probably take an hour or two to heal, though), but it was still messy.

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out an old six-shooter she had "borrowed" a while back. The ghost pointed the gun at her temple, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Confused, Nightshade popped open the chamber.

The voice snickered. _You forgot to load it after you used it last._

"No fucking duh!"

Another image flashed, causing even her to blush.

_Wrong word choice if you're trying to avoid these fantasies._

"_Shut_._ UP_!"

Not wanting another argument, Nightshade teleported back inside. She dropped on the couch, and refused to look at Derrick.

"Want me to brush your hair?" he asked after she was silent for a few minutes.

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll go grab a brush." He stood up, and went upstairs.

Why had she just agreed to that? Why the hell did he ask in the first place?! But it didn't really matter. It had been awhile since anyone had. And she loved when people did it.

When Derrick came back into the living room, he sat in the arm chair, and patted the space in front of him. Nights had always found that chair very odd. It was like the manufacturers were too lazy to make a separate foot stool, so they just put it all together. She walked over and sat in front of him, with her legs crossed.

He pulled the scrunchie out of her hip-length hair, and started running the brush through it.

They were silent for awhile, and it was driving Nights crazy! She wanted to talk, but what was she going to talk about? She wasn't one to fill the silence with idle chatter. She only spoke if there was a point to what she was saying.

Since Derrick wasn't offering anything for her to work off of, she really didn't have any clue what to say.

Then suddenly, "I had two younger sisters. Elizabeth and Estrelda."

"Really?"

"Yup." Then she told him all about her life. From her childhood in London, to her marriage she ran from, to her partnership with William. But she stopped when she got to the part about Blackthorn.

"If'n ya don't mind me askin', how did ya die?" Derrick asked after she had stopped talking.

Well, since he asked . . . .

"We had gotten sloppy," she had slipped into her british accent during her story, "and it cost us. At first I blamed William, because he had wanted to leave that day. I hadn't had time to see much of Lord Blackthorn's estate, so I didn't know what to steal. But the music box his mother had given him looked valuable enough, and I knew exactly where it was. Then I blamed myself, because I had gotten caught. I was stupid, and I didn't shut the door behind me. And I wasn't paying attention. That allowed his servant to come in without me knowing. Blackthorn had us thrown into the river. We drowned."

Derrick had stopped brushing when she had said Blackthorn's name.

"So," he said after a moment. "You're Amelia."

The fact it wasn't a question wasn't lost on her.

"Yes. Well, that was the name I told him. My name's Emily."

She started to panic when he didn't say anything. Nights twisted around to look at him.

"Ace? Please. Please, say something."

"Do you . . . ." He stopped, and Nights held her breath. "Did you sell it?"

She blinked a few times, not understanding. "Sell what?"

"The music box."

She smirked. "Are you kidding? I had been trying to find that thing since I died! It has a place of honor in my Music Box Room. My most prized possession, that one."

He gave her a half smile before his face became serious again.

"Oh, what now, Ace? Do you want me to panic?"

Now he looked confused. "Why are you panicking?"

"Because you seem like you want to hate me for all eternity!"

"What?! No, I don't hate you. I'm just tryin' to figure out if we'd still be friends if my some-odd-great grandfather hadn't killed you. And I'm tryin' to figure out why we're best friends, anyway."

Nights turned around so she was facing him, and she took his hands. "Darlin', I don't blame anyone for my death--now, that took a few hundred years. People die. That's what happens. If I had died some other way, for some other reason, I'm sure we'd still be best friends."

"Ya think so?"

"Dear heart, I know so."

~*~*~*~*~*

It took her a few hours to realize what she had told him, and the significance of it.

Her revenge was quickly unraveling, and if she didn't do anything to stop it, she would be loving him instead of ruining him.

And that scared her more than sandworms.

* * *

**AN:** Well? Is everybody okay? Nights is overreacting to all of this, so yeah.


	8. Now you know

**AN:** Wow, this chapter is extremely short, but there really wasn't much to do in this one. That's why I posted this chapter, and the previous one at the same time.

* * *

It took Nightshade two years to get control of herself. She no longer had any doubts as to her relationship with Derrick. She was a grifter, and he was her target. That was it.

Today, she was going through with her plan. Even the little voice couldn't find any flaws in this one.

Nights was going to spook the horse Derrick was riding, and leave his fate up to, well, Fate.

It was perfect.

The poltergeist crouched behind the purely decorative broken wagon, waiting for the horse to come galloping around the corner.

But before she could do anything, she found herself looking at the front of Juno's desk.

Nights shot up, fists clenched at her sides, and glared at the case worker.

"What. The. Hell. _Juno_?!" she growled.

"I had to stop you before you did something you would regret for the rest of your existence."

Nights growled again, and dropped into the chair behind her.

"Beetlejuice screwed up, and I didn't expect it to affect you like this."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about? I haven't seen B in four years."

Juno rubbed her forehead. "Would you believe me if I told you, you are in love with Derrick Blackthorn?"

"No."

"Well, you are."

"Oh, really? And how is that?"

"You two were already together before Beetle fucked up!"

"Do tell," Nights replied, coldly.

So Juno told her all about what was erased when the Powers That Be performed the Turn Back The Clock spell.

When she was done, Nights had her elbows on her knees, and her forehead resting on her palms.

_Now do you see? I'm __**that**__ Nights. I've known all along._

"Then why didn't you tell me," she mumbled.

_Would you have believed me? I couldn't even convince you of your own feelings._

Nightshade looked up at Juno, tears threatening to spill. "I could've killed him."

"Yes, and I don't think he would have come to here."

Nights laughed awkwardly. "Then I guess I'm glad you stopped me."

Juno gave her one of her very rare smiles. "Beetle is in the waiting room, if you want to yell at him for being an idiot.

"Hmm, I think I will."

_Why is he an idiot?_

Nights didn't answer until she was out of Juno's office and on her way to the waiting room.

"'Cause he nearly fucked up both our chances at someone crazy enough to truly love us," she said.

* * *

**AN:** Okay, if you've read Second Chance, you know what Nights tells Beetlejuice. If you haven't read it . . . then what are you doing?! Go read it! Wow, this is chapter 8. Holy crap. Also, there are only two chapters left. But never fear! There will be a sequel. Actually, the sequel to this and Parasite are the same story. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon.


	9. Let's get drunk

**AN:** :(

Thanks to Yenattirb for allowing me to borrow an idea.

Thanks to Animekitty47, Acelions, and Dark Angel Erissa for their reviews.

Oh, and if you read Parasite, then mayhaps you'll recall Nights saying she had a Christmas party to crash? Yeah, that's in this chapter. If you didn't read it, then there's six months between this chapter and the last one.

* * *

Nightshade had always found depressed people extremely annoying.

Of course, she herself had never been depressed.

Until now.

If Nights had thought the Blackthorn Con (the original one, not the one with Derrick) had been a flop, then Operation: Break Up Derrick And Amy had been, well, the mother of all flops. Like a belly flop into molten lava. Ouch.

She had thought her plan was perfect. Use what was true about the little bitch (Amy was a cheatin' sacka shit) against her. Derrick had had a christmas party that night, and Nights was going to possess Amy and make her kiss some other guy. It wasn't even a full blown possession! Nights was just going to "occupy" her mind long enough to suggest she make-out with Brian. It had worked, too.

Nights had attended the party as Derrick's best friend "Taylor Davenport". As Taylor, she had "excused himself for a smoke" and once she was outside, she turned back into Nights so she could slip back in (invisible, of course) and possess the little brunette slut. Everything was going according to plan. Amy sauntered over to Brian (Nights was still in slight control to make sure she did it) and proceeded to suck out his tonsils. Brian was an ass so it all worked out just fine. After Nights had left Amy and stood rather nonchalantly in the corner as Taylor, Derrick entered the room and (rightly so) demanded of his seven-month-girlfriend "just what the hell was goin' on?!"

Amy had broken away from (a rather disappointed) Brian, startled. She looked at Derrick, completely confused. "Ah know this sounds rather strange, but Ah swear it wasn't me!" she had said in her texan accent. "It was as if someone had taken control of me!"

Nights' mental jaw mentally dropped. Taylor stood there, the only distress coming through as a twitch in his eye. That little bitch!

Derrick had taken his girlfriend outside for a chat. When she returned, by herself, she walked up to Nights and said "He wants to see you, Taylor."

Nights should have thought more about why Amy didn't look like she had just gotten dumped by her boyfriend.

20/20 hindsight, and all that.

Once Nightshade had gotten outside, she switched back to her form, and played the sympathetic-best-friend/potential-girlfriend-candidate. But before she could touch him, he had whirled on her, anger and hate in his face, and grabbed the front of her shirt. He was now a good six inches taller than her, so when he pulled her up, her boots weren't touching the porch anymore.

"Just what the hell were you thinkin', Nights," he had growled. Their noses were practically touching, he was that close.

Nights gulped, and blinked a few times. Her hands were on his fist at her throat. This wasn't the plan.

"Fuckin' answer me, Nightshade!" She shut her eyes tight when he yelled and shook her slightly.

"Ace, I-"

"Don't _Ace_ me, Nightshade. Tell me!"

"Derrick, please don't do this!" Tears started falling.

"Ah never want to see you again," he said in a dangerously low voice before saying her name a third time, banishing her back to the Neitherworld.

Nights had appeared in the middle of her living room, and there she knelt, not moving. The tears wouldn't stop.

Everything had gone wrong.

He had picked his girlfriend over his best friend.

And his best friend was the one who loved him.

But she never got to tell him.

He was, after all, dating someone else.

It was hours before she finally had the sense to move. Nights had rushed to the mirror, only to find his side dark. It was as if he had covered it with a dark, thick blanket.

Derrick was gone.

That was when the depression (and the intense anger) hit. She could handle anger, but depression? The poltergeist had no idea how to deal with that. But she needed to vent somehow.

Prince Vince was always depressed. His ever present little rain cloud was testament to that. So Nightshade took her cue from that.

But if she was going to be depressed, she might as well do it right.

Her rain cloud covered the entire fuckin' Neitherworld.

Since she was angry as well, hers was an actual hurricane, complete with strong winds, bright purple lightning, and crashing thunder.

The storm had let up slightly by the time she got to the bar.

Nights stood in her rain, hands deep in the pockets of her trench coat, water falling off the rim of her fedora, her golden blond ponytail soaked, and stared at the sign.

_The Three Fates_. That was hers and Beetlejuice's usual bar. The words were carved to look like string, and above the name was painted a single eye, and a pair of scissors below.

But that was where the Greek mythology ended. Inside, it was just a regular bar.

She walked inside and made her way to the back, and slumped on her bar stool (directly in the middle). Nights dropped her hat on the well-worn wood of the bar as the bartender approached her.

"Evenin', Miss Nights. The usual?"

Nightshade looked up at the bartender. He was a big guy, not fat, but broad. If she remembered correctly, he had some damn nice shoulders. Of course, she wasn't too concerned with his shoulders that one night. His mop of light brown hair fell just below his jaw, and he had to occasionally flick his head to keep it out of his dark brown eyes.

She never did know his name. Even after she had slept with him.

Nights lightly slapped the bar. "No, sweetheart. Tonight is not a night for strawberry daiquiris."

"Then what is tonight for, Miss Nights?"

"Tonight is for hard liquor. Gimme the best damn whiskey ya got."

"Tyin' to get drunk?"

"Yup."

"Alright. Best damn whiskey comin' up." He turned to get the bottle from the shelved behind him, and looked over his shoulder at the blonde. "Want the shot glass?"

Nights shrugged. "Might as well."

He set down the bottle and shot glass, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he left to take of some other customers.

He really was a nice guy, she thought as she poured her first shot. Someday, she'd have to figure out his name.

Nights was on her third bottle (he _really_ was a nice guy) when someone pulled the bottle from her limp fingers. With a flash of anger (accompanied by a flash of lightning and a thunder clap), she turned to glare daggers at whoever the hell had snatched her whiskey! It was damned difficult to get drunk as a ghost, and there was no way she'd do it if some bastard stole her alcohol!

Oh. She relaxed slightly as Beetlejuice took a swig of her whiskey before setting it back on the bar, and taking the stool next to her.

"Thought I'd find ya here."

"How'd you know to look fer me in the first place?"

He jerked his head towards the windows. "Knew you were behind that."

Right. There would be only three--wait, scratch that. The third person no longer wanted to see her. So, there would be only _two_ people who would be able to tell it was her majik that caused the storm. Beetlejuice and Juno. They were the only ones who knew the taste of her energy signature: strawberries.

Nights shrugged and took another shot.

"So?" Beetlejuice asked when she didn't offer anything.

"I failed." Then she told him what happened, her voice and face expressionless.

When she finished, she turned to him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "How'd you do it?"

She saw him glance around the room before he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, tucking her head under his chin.

"I don't really know. Same you're doin', I guess."

"You didn't make it rain."

"I ain't a broad."

She smiled slightly. "You sayin' the Prince is gay?"

"I wish. Then he wouldn't've tried to take my women."

"I ain't yours, B."

"Close enough."

They were silent for a while before Nights remembered she had something for him. She dug around in her pocket for a bit and pulled out a bottle of shampoo. Then she held it up so he could see it.

She grinned when he quickly grabbed it, and shoved it in one of his pockets of his suit jacket.

"I didn't ask fer any," he growled. Her grin widened when she felt him look around again. If anyone found out he washed his hair, his reputation would be ruined. She knew he wasn't a clean freak, far from it, and the _only_ thing he _had_ to have clean was his hair. It was the rest of the Neitherworld that didn't know that was the case. So she'd get his shampoo for him when he needed it.

"I figured I might as well get a bottle while I was there. Just in case they didn't have any when you needed it." Once, that had happened, and, well, he was _not_ thrilled. He had to have his vanilla. She understood that, she refused to use anything other than her strawberry. Since he would've gone berserk, she went to the managers instead. She had a little "talk" with them, and they promised to never run out again. But she wasn't gonna take that chance. Next time, she might not _want _to talk her B out of killing the bastards. Again.

Even though she was smiling, she was still depressed, and the rain still fell.

Nightshade wanted another drink, but she couldn't do that in the position she was in. So she waited for Beetlejuice to go back to being his hard-ass self, and stop showing his genuine concern for her. Yeah, they'd been together for a long time, and everyone knew that, but they still had reputations to keep.

Eventually, he let her go, and she took another shot.

Beetlejuice stole another drink, and said "Don't kill yerself." Then he left, since there wasn't anything else he could do for her.

That was fine with her.

She wanted to drown her sorrows in drink.

So she did.

* * *

**AN:** I feel so terrible. Poor Nights . . . I had to tone this down a little, or I was gonna cry while I wrote it. Aw, hell, I'm cryin' now . . .

Next chapter is the last chapter. It's from Derrick's POV. Still third person, though.


	10. A different kind of partnership

**AN: **I'm sure you noticed last chapter I tried to write in their southern accents. I tried again this time, but it was really failing, so I stopped. This is the final chapter of Music Boxes. But there will be a sequel! And it will be titled Together Forever. Woo! Thanks to Dark Angel Erissa, Animekitty47, and Yenattirb for their reviews!

* * *

It took Derrick five years of failed relationships to realize he had been a complete and total ass.

He had picked his girlfriend (who had a history of cheating) over his best friend (a girl who got him better than anyone else).

And he doubted Nightshade would take him back.

She'd probably got on with her . . . afterlife? Probably already had another friend, or at least a boyfriend.

But he had to see her anyway. Apologize, and tell her . . .

It had also taken five years of failed relationships for him to realize he was in love with his best friend. He didn't know if she loved him, but something had to explain her actions that night. He knew the vast majority of the Neitherworld believed her only desire was money, and the only thing she cared for was her hair. But Derrick knew different. Yeah, she was selfish, a con artist, a liar, and not a very nice person. So she didn't try to break him and Amy up out of the goodness of her still heart. She wanted something. Derrick had always noticed she'd get extremely jealous if he showed any kind of attention to another female (yes, she got jealous of his mares), so he knew she wanted Amy out of the picture for a selfish reason.

He just didn't know what.

The mirror was still in his old room at his parents' house, but he figured Nights' chant would work anywhere. Magic was magic, right?

Standing in the middle of his apartment bedroom, he said her chant. Derrick grinned at the familiar rush of icy heat and taste of strawberries as his room transformed into the poltergeist's Gate, and he was thrilled to see he was back in his Neitherworld outfit.

He ran through the gate, and was rather shocked to find it raining. It had never rained before.

Let alone strawberry tasting rain.

The breather sprinted down the road to Nightshade's mansion. Her car was still in the driveway, but that didn't necessarily mean she was home. Derrick didn't even bother knocking and opened the door. So what if she was with someone?

He blinked at the mess that greeted him. There was junk everywhere! Sure, her place was cluttered before because she was a pack rat, but at least he could see the floor back then.

Empty bottles were on every available surface, fabrics, papers, and stuff he couldn't identify covered the floor.

This was still Nightshade's house, right? There were two place she was probably in. Assuming she was home.

Derrick made his way (carefully) up to the second floor to her Music Box room. This room was still clean, aside from a few bottles. But the ghost wasn't there. Next floor up, he went to her bedroom. Where he found her.

She was sleeping on top of the covers, curled up, with (yet another) empty bottle in her hand. Nights looked like hell. Derrick sat on the edge of her huge bed. Her skin had taken a darker lilac tint, and there were dark purple circles around her eyes. Her once silky hair was now matted and wild. And was that . . . moss growing in patches along her hairline?

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and jumped when she looked at him. At least they were still jade green, but the whites had turned yellow.

"Whadahell," she slurred.

"Are you . . . drunk?" He knew she liked to drink, but he also knew a drunk ghost was hard to come by.

"Obviouzly not 'nough."

"Why not?"

"'Cause yer back, hallucination-Ace." She sat up and looked in her empty bottle, then she tipped it over. "Awww, dat wuz m'last one . . ."

Derrick didn't know what to do. She thought he wasn't real. "Doll . . ."

She turned her head to glare at him. "Shuddup. Yer jus' an illuzzun caused by m'broken heart."

"But, doll--"

"No. Jus' 'cause m'heart dun beat, dun mean it won' break."

"I wasn't gonna say--"

"I ain't done!"

He waited for her to say something else, but she didn't. The ghost woman just continued to glare at him.

"Move," she finally ordered. "I gotta go ta da bar . . . ge' more t'drink."

He stood up, and watched her crawl to the edge and stand up. But he caught her before she could fall to the floor.

"Wha? I always hit da floor . . ." she mumbled, looking at the floor.

"I caught ya, baby doll."

She looked up at Derrick, genuine confusion on her face. "Bu' yer not real. Y'can't catch me, Ace."

"Nights. . ." How bad had he hurt her, when he told her to go away? Enough to cause her to be drunk 24/7. Enough to where she wouldn't, couldn't, believe he was back.

Derrick didn't know what to do. So he kissed her, and he heard the bottle _thunk_ as it hit the floor.

"Tell me that wasn't real, doll," he said when he broke away. "I love you, Nights. I'm sorry for being an ass. Please, just know that I'm really here. That I'm really back."

She didn't say anything.

"How old are you now?"

Derrick blinked at her sudden question. He looked in her yellow and green eyes, unnaturally alert for being the eyes of a drunk. And he noticed her speech wasn't slurred.

"You're not drunk anymore."

"Nope. I found out I needed a constant supply of hard liquor. I'll tell you this, though: I've got one mother fucker of a headache." She raised her brow. "You gonna answer my question?"

"I'm twenty-five. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Do you truly love me?"

"Yes."

"I had to stay drunk 'cause I couldn't stand being without you sober. I don't want to go through that again."

Derrick knew that look. She had an idea. "I don't want be away from you."

"Then let's get hitched."

But he wasn't expecting _marriage_.

"Ace, I love you. I have since before I met you. Don't ask. It's complicated. Now that you're older than me," she held up her hand when he opened his mouth, "we can get married."

"Why does it matter if I'm older?"

"Together forever. Derrick, if you marry me, you won't die."

Derrick stared at her. If he didn't die, then death would never part them.

He grinned, and his arms around her waist tightened. "Nights, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?"

Nightshade grinned, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. "I will."

And for the first time in his life, Derrick was thrilled his dad gave him a broken music box.

* * *

**AN:** Yay for happy endings! And again, thank you all so very much! Oh, I got a little poll up on my profile. I would love you forever if you voted.


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